


The Final Problem

by ElizabethisjustaKitten



Series: A Study in Affinity [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Parenting!Fic, Parentlock, Sherlock being dad, Soccer Moms of Regent's Park, birthday fic, feel good fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 19:10:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9398942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizabethisjustaKitten/pseuds/ElizabethisjustaKitten
Summary: Rosie is one year old today. There's a big birthday party and Sherlock just needs to stay quiet for one more day.(Or the one where Sherlock finally concludes his feelings for John and steals all the attention from the birthday girl)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Dear fandom, whatever happens today, just know, that I loved our time together for these years. This is for all of us still believing in Sherlock even when we were betrayed, broken and left to suffer. Here's to us. Stay strong.

There's something about the ritual of celebrating one's birthday, that Sherlock doesn't fully grasped even after he attended a lot of birthday parties through the years. 

Especially kids birthday parties always seems bizarre. It's the tradition to congratulate the aging person and not their parents for managing to reach set another milestone. The parents were, after all, responsible for keeping the human alive during the course of the past twelve months. Therefore, it's only right to congratulate the parents for not failing the difficult task. 

Sherlock now knows that raising a child, especially a small child, takes gumption. Children, being just miniature underdeveloped human being with limited processing of the world, are a pesky creatures. One moment they are perfectly fine and the next you turn around and they are rolling in the mud, arms and legs covered to the very last inch. 

Case in point, exhibit A) Rosie Watson. Taking care of the little humanoid creature with the agility of a wild animal (now that she can mostly walk) is a redundant task. It takes enormous self-control not to chug all your hair from your skull while she is being difficult. 

But there's something rather exciting about a small creature occupying your days. It's like conducting a never-ending biology experiment. You are allowed to observe a rather fast learning individual explore the world from the clean slate it was given. It's teaching by your own mistakes, making small progress every passing hour that never stops going on.  By the time you can compare the results, the moment is gone and the experimenting method shifted once more. 

Rosie is one year old today. She is a bright young girl, loved by so many people that the children playground in Regent's Park is full. There's a small picnic happening and gifts are pilling at one of the picnic tables right next the cake that's slowly melting in the sun. John is clumsily lighting a candle over it. 

Sherlock's watching him with utter fascination, as his hands shelter the candle from the wind while placing it at top of the 3-tier buttercream masterpiece that Angie and her husband assembled this morning. Their bakery is doing well. 

"Ready?" John asks, when he finally manages to get the candle right where it belongs.  Sherlock lifts Rosie above the cake, doing a little airplane spin with her as she laughs.  There's a _Happy Birthday_ sing-along around them. John smiles at him and Sherlock smiles back, before showing Rosie how to blow the candle. 

They do it together in the end, as Rosie is more spiting at the cake than blowing and there's an applause happening and Sherlock's and John's eyes lock again as Sherlock hands John his daughter, their fingers softly touching for a moment there.  But this is not a time, nor the place. This moment belongs to Rosie, so Sherlock just starts cutting the cake as John is handling it to their friends and relatives. 

There are Sherlock's parents in the crowd, beaming with pride and John's sister with her new girlfriend. The moms of Reagent's Park are all huddled somewhere by the benches, for sure gossiping about some minor scandal that just happened. There's even Mycroft looking in the shadow of the playground, refusing cake and any human interaction for the moment. Except for Greg Lestrade. He smiles at Greg for a split of second and Sherlock just chuckles, knowing that look on his brother's face. 

"We want cake, we want cake!" Joyce's and Joshes children chant as Sherlock forgets himself for s moment, observing Mycroft from the distance. He thinks all the possible outcomes for that to go from horribly wrong to reasonably great. 

He often wonders what would happen if he and John didn't repent their sins and did not stand their waiting. Would they last, could they be happy sooner? 

Somewhere deep down Sherlock knows the answer. He would break John Watson if he allowed himself to love him then. Instead building him back up, he would shatter that delicate miracle of his life into millions of pieces and scatter them across the globe wherever they would go. Sherlock driven by some manic delusion and John always step behind him. 

He is grateful for what they have now. It's a still fragile and developing form of happiness making their life a much more exciting place to be. It fit's like a puzzle pieces in incredibly good case, where every action can be anticipated and yet it would surprise you. Not knowing the outcome and all the entrance information, he would be utterly lost in this mess of feelings and romantic entanglement. 

But being with John is an enigma he finally managed to solve. The final problem, the last case. The question wasn’t how to make a man, Sherlock’s been head over hills from the moment he saw him, love him back. No, the question was if Sherlock is capable of lowing John the way he deserves. He always had a terrible affinity for John. The affection creeping into him, making him weaker and stronger at the same time. The fondness of every move, every word, however stupid, that came out of his mouth. Sherlock always felt a kind of inherent sympathy for John Watson. They connected on the primal level of addiction, shared every moment of it. Adrenaline was the primary bond that caused their attraction. He truly was just a junkie looking for a fix.

But years after, there’s so much more. John is family, the only one he would lean to, the only want he would trust with his life and he did, multiple time. There must be some terrible irony buried in loving somebody so much, you trust him with your own being and at the same time, you despise the idea that he would have to make that choice. But Sherlock knows now he would always pick John Watson. There’s something binding him to this man. He just have to figure out what.

"You deserve some too, you know? You put this all together," John interrupts his thoughts by putting a half-eaten piece of cake in front of Sherlock's nose. He licks the spoon rather obscenely before handing it to him. 

"You know there's plenty of that god-awful cutlery still on the table, right?" Sherlock asks, a gentle smile settling on his lips.

"I know, but this way it feels more intimate and I like it!" John smirks. There's a moment when Sherlock's heart skips the beat during that statement. 

"If you want to kiss me, you really just should," he teases him, his voice soft and low. 

"We talked about this. After Rosie’s big day!" John says, taking a step back from Sherlock. 

"I don't see why we have to do this at all. It's a private matter that shouldn't be discussed at lengths with anybody."

"Really Sherlock? You do remember Josh, don't you?" John just laughs. 

"You were in cahoots with Josh so much sooner than I even talked to that guy. That does not count as an argument against me."

It might, because John just smiles, looking around for Rosie in the crowd. Sherlock knows, because whenever John looks for his daughter, there's that look of concern mixed with dedication and pure love in the lines around his face. Sherlock sometimes wonders how he looks at him when they are in public. 

"It's a rite of passage, Sherlock." John says simply, smiling at his sister waving him from afar. She is holding Rosie up, talking to her in baby voice. 

"Coming out is not requirement to justify your feeling and desires, John. It doesn't suddenly make everything official." Sherlock laments, maybe standing a bit closer to him that he should. 

"It does for me. To fully accept myself from this perspective I need people to understand. They see me in certain light and I need to know it's okay even with this addition to me."

The words are hurting Sherlock a little inside. Shouldn't an acceptance from your partner be enough? 

"And I know what you are going to say. They already know. Well, it's not for them, is it?" John turns to him, raising his hands as if he was about to put them around him. He lets them fall again. 

"No, it's for you," Sherlock just murmurs, suddenly losing his appetite for the cake. 

"No, you asshole. It's for us." john laughs, putting one hand against Sherlock's chest. He is so close and he already smells like Sherlock and sex. Every other idiot should be able to figure it out by now. 

But nobody does. Nobody reacts to the scandalous touch and sultry look John is giving Sherlock. They share that moment, Sherlock breathing hard against John’s palm. It has to be enough for now. 

There's celebrating going around and kids running on sugar high. Rosie is playing with couple of her new toys, wearing an awful plastic tiara somebody bought for her. If they have the audacity to show with such a tacky gift, it should at least be something real, not cheap plastic. 

For some reason, people stand next to him through the day, telling him how good are he and John doing, talking about how Rosie grew since they last saw her. Or they simply smile at him telling him how proud he must be. 

Sherlock doesn't completely understand this behaviour. Rosie, however fatherly he might feel about her, is in fact not his daughter. She is just a child of -as far as people are concerned- his best friend. People don't need to know everything. They don't need to know about these nights he spend up dealing with her refusing to go to sleep, or how many diapers he changed, how he had to teach himself to cook just to prepare baby food. They don't know about that time Rosie got a really high fever and John was at work, so Sherlock stole Mrs. Hudson’s car and drove to the hospital like a maniac. They don't know all of these thing and they ought not to. As long as John doesn't want them too. 

He always just smiles and politely nods when people approach him. They always pass him, heading to John, surely tell him the same thing. 

Time passes slowly for Sherlock that day. There are many people, most of them he knows and got tired of analysing now, but sometimes a different lump on their clothes or badly folded sleeves of their shirts manage to catch his attention. Seems like Molly got a new boyfriend. It's too new to bring him at a large scale family gathering like this, but she seems happier and changed her lipstick colour. This one goes well with the nail polish she is wearing. 

Gregory Lestrade ironed his pants this morning and put on a tie, surely to seem sophisticated to certain government official. 

Poor Mycroft put on some weight, probably stress eating his way through crushing on such a simple soul. 

And then there's Mrs. Hudson, delighted to be out around children, gossiping with all of the Regent's Park parents around her. They completely adore her and Sherlock can't find the reason why shouldn't they. 

Only Josh is missing from the parental group, tucked away from people with his wife, whispering to her ear under the slide, looking at her like she is his moon and he might be the tide. 

At last, he finds John in the crowd, talking to his sister, holding Rosie in his arms. She turns her little head as if she knows he is watching him and waves. Sherlock softly smiles and waves her back. 

"You know, you look different when he is not looking." Molly is standing beside him now. How did he not register her until now? 

"Where did I hear this before?" He just smiles. It’s a genuine smile and he knows it throws her off balance for a moment. It's still new to her, the way Sherlock smiles and means it. 

"Might hear it before, but you are a different man now, so it doesn't mean the same as before."

"I'm still me, Molly," he says, still looking at Rosie that is now grinning at him with her teeth all out. 

"Yes and yet you are not who you were before you met him, are you Sherlock?" She puts a hand on his back.

"It's in your smile. It's real now. And when you think he is not looking, when you think no one's looking, you have that look. The one that goes lengths in telling that you are not the same man you were all those years ago."

"Maybe I've changes a little. People do that."

He says. 

"And maybe you just fell in love," she smiles at him, leaving him with that and walking away. There's a terrible metaphor hidden somewhere in all of that, but he just can't find it now. 

After the cake is finished and the gifts are given, the parents take their kids home to make them dinner and put them to beds. The rest of the childless adults gather around a picnic table with a bottle of kids bubbly and Rosie is sleeping soundless in her stroller. 

"She will be too big for that thing soon," Mrs. Hudson points at the stroller, finishing last piece of the cake. Sherlock suspects she might be stoned at the moment. 

"Better to enjoy it while it lasts," points Donovan, almost ready to leave them since she has a night shift tonight.

John just nods, his mind traveling entirely different places. Sherlock can tell by his look. He turns into such a daydreamer when he is happy. 

"She certainly is a rather developed baby," Mycroft observes and it's as good as a compliment from him can get. He is not sitting with them, only standing behind Lestrade, looking composed and cold as usual. But his eyes are piercing Lestrade’s skull from behind and it makes the Detective Inspector rather uncomfortable. He even toys with his tie. 

"It flies like crazy, John says after a while looking at Rosie and then glancing at Sherlock for a moment before averting his eyes, leaving him only with a smile. 

"Who would say a year ago we would be sitting here together, drinking kids’ lemonade, talking about strollers and diapers."

"We would certainly not expect Sherlock to participate in such conversations," Mycroft observes with a sick, cruel smile that tells him that he knows, he knows, he knows! 

"Sherlock is certainly a surprise," Lestrade nods, unbuttoning his jacket as if he were rather hot in the shadowy shelter of the trees. 

"Is it though?" Molly asks, glancing at Sherlock as if saying she got this. 

"Sherlock is doing amazing with this whole situation. Maybe you should take note, Mycroft."

And it's only after she says it, that her ears turn a rather red colour. But the determination on her face is genuine and Sherlock is so grateful to have Molly Hooper in his life. 

"He is, isn't he?" Mrs. Hudson knowingly smiles munching on her cake. 

"And here we are still waiting for him to get bored again. Because that will happen!" Mycroft says and his smile twists into a cruel snake around his face. 

"What makes you think that, brother dear?" Sherlock asks, appearing unfazed by his statement. He is not. He carefully glances to John as if to assure him, not really being sure what about. 

"It's okay, because he is here now. I am and forever will be grateful to Sherlock," John says suddenly, looking straight at him, emotions bubbling in his eyes. 

"He raised me from the absolute darkness that my life was after Afghanistan and navigated me back to the light. He stood by my side when the mother of my child decided to leave us and he helped me get me back to my feet yet again. He does all these incredible things you will never understand and you never could and every day he is around, there's this terrible burden lifted from me by his help. He never turned his back on me, even when I had a child to take care of. He sacrificed his own comfort to take me and Rosie in. Nothing, no words, can ever cover how much I owe to this man." 

John's eyes are glossy and his upper lip is shaking. He looks at Sherlock from across the table, where he is sitting and smiles a little: "I'm so proud of you and everything you managed to overcome with me."

And it's that moment when everything in Sherlock breaks, as he can feel a teardrop running down his face. And then there's another and another. He opens his mouth to speak but shuts it again unable to convey words. 

There's a stunned silence around them and he knows he should react to John's words. But only thing that comes to his mind right now is how much he wants to kiss John. He wants to reach across and pull him closer, while whispering only to him. 

"I..." his mind is blank. 

"Just say something!" Mrs. Hudson stabs him under his ribs with the plastic fork.

"I love you!" Sherlock blurts. And he realises the truth of that statement just a fraction of moment later, when his heart starts racing and the world blurs. He can't move, realising what he has done. 

"What?" There's a surprised yelp from Lestrade. 

"What?" There's an excited roar from Donovan that is already halfway through the picnic area. 

"What indeed," observes Mycroft smiling wickedly and places a hand on Greg shoulder, maybe thinking that nobody will notice since everybody is caught in the drama that’s right in front of them. 

Lestrade notices and he covers Mycroft hand with his own. Sherlock notices as well. 

"You bastard," John exclaims, with a happy laughter, tilting his head across the table closer to Sherlock. 

"You couldn't let me have this one, couldn't wait. You had to steal the show, didn't you?" He lectures him, but his tone is sweet and careless. 

"Always," Sherlock smiles at him, leaning to him. 

And they finally kiss, John melting into Sherlock in an instance. It's a wet and well deserved kiss, a bit dirtier that should be in front of friends. 

When they finally part, there's a stunned silence, only Mrs. Hudson is chuckling into her empty plate. 

"I love you too." John says smiling

"But you already know that. Probably deduced that from the way I tie my shoes or something." He laughs. 

"Don't be ridiculous, it's the way you comb your hair!" Sherlock teases. 

"Really?" John asks, fascinated by this idea. 

"No." Sherlock laughs again. "You just talk from your sleep." 

John's cheek turn red and Sherlock leans to kiss him again. He only hears Lestrades _chocked So they are sleeping together already?_ And a laugh from Molly, before his world narrows only to John and the tenderness for his lips. 

He has a certain affinity for those lips. They leave him feeling like he belongs. This family of his sitting around might be small, but he belongs. Sherlock, for the first time, is certain. He feels loved. 


End file.
